


Debut

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF, MCFC RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kun has an awesome City debut and he and some other people are pretty thrilled about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debut

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://touchline.livejournal.com/727.html?thread=299991) at touchline.

As Kun walks through the dressing room, everyone he passes reaches out and touches him. His teammates ruffle his hair and clap him on the back. They pat his shoulders and smack his ass. Hart actually picks him up and whirls him around, yelling something Kun doesn’t understand in Kun’s face. It hardly matters, though, Kun understands Hart’s smile, understands the sheer unadulterated joy on Hart’s face. He understands all of that just fine--no translation required.

Hart puts Kun down just as quickly as he’d swept him up and Kun goes stumbling away from Hart and right into Silva. Silva catches him, twisting his hands in Kun’s jersey and hauling Kun close. Silva smiles widely at him and says, “You--” Silva’s smile is just like the smile he’d given Kun right after Kun scored. It’s open and exultant and it lights up his whole face. Kun decides, right then and there, that he’s going to make Silva smile like that as often as he possibly can. On the pitch, off the pitch, it doesn’t matter. Kun just wants Silva to smile at him like that all of the time.

Silva pulls Kun still closer, so close that Kun can feel the heat from his body, so close that Kun smell him. He smells of sweat and dirt and grass and the rain--like the game itself. “ _You_ \--” he says again, voice low and full of something like amazement. And Kun wants to interrupt him, to say, “You too.” To say, _”you were amazing.”_ Because playing against Silva, it hadn’t prepared him for the reality of playing _with_ Silva. And he just wants _more_ of that, wants it _right now_. He knows, with bone-deep certainty, that together they can do things that will make tonight look ordinary by comparison.

Silva runs his hand up Kun’s chest. “I could,” Silva says, sliding his hand over Kun’s shoulder and along the side of Kun’s neck, pressing his thumb lightly against Kun’s throat, “I could just--” He cups the nape of Kun’s neck with his hand and pulls Kun forward. “-- _just_ \--” He kisses Kun’s cheek right at the corner of Kun’s mouth. Silva’s mouth is warm and soft against Kun’s cheek and Kun almost--almost--turns his head so that their mouths catch together, so that he can find out what Silva’s mouth feels like pressed against his. But, instead, he turns his head just enough to land a quick kiss on the side of Silva’s face, his mouth barely glancing off the sharp edge of Silva’s cheekbone.

Silva makes a pleased, humming sound against Kun’s cheek. He pulls back a little and, just for a moment, rests his forehead against Kun’s. Then he pulls back the rest of the way. He squeezes Kun’s neck. “You were--” He shakes his head like he just can’t believe it all, “-- _so_ \--just amazing.”

Kun smiles at him--smiles until his cheeks hurt because it _was_ amazing. Better than any debut he could have imagined. He knows that right now he should really be saying something back to Silva but all he can do is smile. Eventually, he manages to stammer out, “You--you too.” It’s not enough. It doesn’t do justice to how it felt to play with Silva. To what Kun saw as he watched Silva from the bench and itched to be out there playing with Silva. Silva, though, doesn’t seem to mind Kun’s stuttering, inadequate words. He just smiles broadly and squeezes Kun’s neck, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of Kun’s throat.

Kun’s about to say something more--to say something better--when someone crashes into his back, slamming him forward into Silva. Kun reaches out to grab at Silva’s shoulders. He catches Silva’s jersey in his hands and pulls, trying to keep Silva--to keep them both--upright. It just barely works.

Right into Kun’s ear, Pablo yells, “Kun!“

Kun loves Pablo, really he does, and that’s all that keeps him from turning to Pablo and snapping, “Fuck off.” He almost does it anyway. Because he wants the moment he just had back, the moment where he had Silva’s hands on him and had Silva smiling so brightly--smiling just for him. It’s gone, though, and yelling at Pablo won’t bring it back.

Pablo grips Kun’s shoulders tightly and shakes him a little. “Kun,” he says and he’s not yelling anymore but he’s still really fucking loud and talking straight into Kun’s ear. “That,” he says, “that was fucking amazing.” He smacks Kun’s shoulder then reaches out to roughly ruffle Silva’s hair. “And you,” Pablo says, “you were also amazing. Not as amazing as Kun but still amazing.”

“Fuck you,” Silva says with a good-natured smile.

Pablo just laughs and comes around to stand at Kun’s side. “I am only telling the truth,” he says, still laughing, “If you do not like it, that is not my problem.” He slings his arm around Kun’s shoulders. That ends up being a little awkward because Kun, stunned and reeling a little from Pablo’s interruption, still has his arms raised--still has his hands on Silva’s shoulders, fisted in Silva’s jersey. He doesn’t really want to let go.

Pablo, seemingly undeterred by Kun’s unwillingness to let go of Silva, leaves his arm where it is. “ _Sooo_ ,” Pablo says, drawing out the word and lacing it with ridiculous over-the-top innuendo, “am I interrupting something here, because I could go and just come back when you’re done gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, or whatever it is you are doing here.” Kun tenses. He knows Pablo’s teasing, knows Pablo doesn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t be sure how Silva will take it.

Silva rolls his eyes and then he reaches over and shoves at Pablo’s chest. Kun lets his hands slide off of Silva’s shoulders. “Very funny,” Silva says, so seriously, that, for a moment, Kun’s worried that Silva’s actually offended--or worse--and that’s the last thing Kun wants.

Pablo, though, doesn’t seem worried at all. Pablo just laughs and shoves Silva back. Then he reaches out and wraps his other arm around Silva’s neck and hauls him close. Silva smiles and lets Pablo drag him over. Kun realizes that Silva’s seriousness was just a tease and he relaxes again.

“So,” Pablo says, tugging Kun closer, “this season, I’m telling you, it’s going to be good.”

Kun leans into Pablo’s side and wraps his arm around Pablo’s back. Silva does the same and their arms tangle warmly together across Pablo’s back. Silva shifts his arm a bit. He wraps his hand around Kun’s arm and squeezes. “Fuck good,” Kun says, “it’s going to be great. Right, Silva?”

Silva laughs and squeezes Kun’s arm tighter. “Yeah,” he says, “great.”


End file.
